


His Remedy for Care

by ArgentSleeper



Series: Episode AUs [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, But it's probably Merthur, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s02e13 The Last Dragonlord, Gen, I'm not saying it's Merthur, Like pre-pre-slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1810408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentSleeper/pseuds/ArgentSleeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Injured in the dragon attack in lieu of Arthur and afraid of being stopped from going on the mission, Merlin kept away from Gaius and never learned that Balinor was his father.  Instead it's Arthur that puts two and two together as he seeks the dragonlord out, first to save his servant (not friend- they can't <em>be</em> friends), then to save his kingdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Remedy for Care

**Author's Note:**

> UNFINISHED WORKS WHAT UNFINISHED WORKS
> 
> This fic is also known as part of Agathe's Fantabulous Crusade to Make Arthur Not So Oblivious. See [Sacrifices](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1128579) for other such enlightenment.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Title from Emily Dickinson's poem "1723"_

The next time someone chastised him for being harsh to Merlin, Arthur was going to retell, in explicit detail, just what the _complete and utter idiot_ had done to get them into this predicament.

 

Said idiot was lying silent and motionless across his horse’s saddle. He was _supposed_ to be bouncing around, chattering incessantly, maybe even attracting a good dozen of Cenred’s men to come and kill them. He was _not_ supposed to have hidden a grave wound and aggravated it to the point where it was now inflamed and infected and just generally _not good_. And of course Merlin would choose to have his girly fainting fit in enemy territory, _deep_ in enemy territory, where they were a good day’s ride from a safe place to ask for a physician, if such a place even existed.

 

Arthur had had no choice but to continue to ride on to find the dragonlord. The man had been living as a hermit, after all. He had to have some means of keeping himself well. At least they were close. Or Arthur thought they should be. He’d dragged them to the foot of the mountain just like the thief had said, and there was the cave through the trees.

 

Merlin didn’t stir as Arthur carefully pulled him off the horse. He didn’t dare leave the servant there while he searched for Balinor. The horses could spook and run off with him or a patrol could come through or bandits could attack. Merlin would be defenceless against any of them in this state. Well, Merlin would be defenceless against them in any state, but at the very least, he looked pathetic enough that just the sight of him should convince the reportedly contrary dragonlord to help them out.

 

The rocks leading into the cave mouth were slick, and Arthur stumbled a few times as he picked his way over them. “Hello?” he shouted into the cave. There was a chance Balinor wasn’t even home, such as his home was. He could be hunting, or taking a stroll. “Is anyone here?”

 

There were definitely signs _someone_ lived there. Blankets and cookware and candles. All sparse and compact enough the essentials could be packed up in a hurry should he need to flee. Arthur lowered Merlin down onto a bundle of blankets that must have been a bed. There was firewood nearby, and when Arthur touched it, the bark was still wet. Someone had been here, and recently.

 

A sharp prick at his back told him that someone was indeed still there.

 

“What do you want?” the low voice growled.

 

Arthur didn’t dare try to turn around, loathe as he was to stay on his knees while talking to this dragonlord. “My servant is ill. Please, is there anything you can do to help him?”

 

“Why not just take him to one of your grand cities?”

 

“Even if I could make it there in time, he cannot make the journey. Not safely.”

 

The dragonlord hesitated for a moment longer, and Arthur feared he might refuse. If so, he would have no choice but to rush Merlin to the nearest village and pray there was someone who could heal him. That was if Merlin survived for them to heal. Then the point of the sword disappeared.

 

“Move aside, boy.”

 

Arthur didn’t bother to correct his gross insubordination, quickly scurrying out of the way so that the man might reach Merlin. Balinor pulled Merlin’s shirt and the rough improvised bandages aside, examining the wound Arthur himself had only discovered this morning. The dragon had scored Merlin’s shoulder badly, enough Arthur had to admit he was impressed Merlin had even been able to lift it to dress him.

 

Balinor dragged over a bucket of water and dropped a scrap of fabric in. “Well? Get to it, then. Clean him up. It does me no good to treat an infection that will only come right back.”

 

Arthur obeyed, his worry for Merlin once more overriding the annoyance at the dragonlord’s manner. Now that it seemed treatment was on the way, however, he was feeling quite a bit less lenient.

 

“How did this happen?” Balinor asked, in a tone that could easily pass for an accusation, as he crushed herbs in a small bowl.

 

“He was attacked. By a dragon,” Arthur added pointedly.

 

The man flinched slightly, but recovered quickly. “You sent a servant out against a dragon? What, then? I’m to save him so you might send him out to his death once more?”

 

“I didn’t _send_ Merlin anywhere!” Arthur snapped, wiping away blood and pus rather more roughly than perhaps he should have. At least Merlin was unconscious. “He went willingly. In fact, he had orders to remain in the castle. It’s not my fault the idiot can’t listen to save his life!”

 

“It's supposed to be your job to make him listen!” Balinor slammed the bowl down. “There was once a time kings protected their subjects, when they put their people’s lives ahead of their own foolish desires!”

 

Arthur froze his ministrations in shock. How _dare_ this man, this _criminal_ , make such accusations against him? It was obvious that he knew exactly who the prince was, though how he had no idea. “My people are the most important thing in my entire kingdom! Do you think I would have carted my _servant_ across a forest for treatment if I thought otherwise? Do you think either of us would even be here right now, searching for _you_ , if I cared only for my own ‘foolish desires?’”

 

Balinor merely snorted. “You would not let him die. Who would take your punishments when you return disappointed?”

 

“ _I would never_ –” his protest cut off as the last sunk in. “Disappointed? You don’t even know why we’re here.”

 

Balinor picked up his bowl again and shoved Arthur out of the way so that he could slop the mixture across Merlin’s shoulder. “You want me to slay your dragon.”

 

“Well… _yes_.”

 

“I will not.”

 

“B-but why?” Arthur sputtered. “My people are dying! You can’t possibly–”

 

“Your peoples’ deaths are on your own head, and that of your father! Dragons don’t hunt humans, not naturally, not even for sport. The only reason Kilgharrah would ever attack Camelot is for vengeance. I can’t deny I have harboured such thoughts myself before. I will not deny him his due. Not when I am as much at fault for causing his pain in the first place.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Come now, boy, don’t take me for a fool. I am sure your father has drilled you well in the history of his conquest of all things magical.”

 

Arthur frowned. Yes, one would think, with the zeal by which he pursued it. “Actually, he prefers not to speak of such matters, not in regards to the past. Mostly he refers to a future free of sorcery.”

 

“The dragons used to be many. As were the dragonlords. Until _Uther_ _Pendragon,_ ” he said it like a curse, spitting the bad word away from him, “began the Great Purge, taking care to wipe out every last one of us. No one was safe, not from the youngest to the oldest. I watched many friends I cared about die, all for a pointless cause. And I lost many more when the risk of associating with me became too high.”

 

Balinor bent his head down over Merlin and muttered something, but as it was likely something more derogatory about his family, Arthur elected not to try to listen.

 

“Your father reached out to me, asked me to use my gift to call the last dragon. Said he wanted to make peace with it. I should have known. What does Uther Pendragon know of peace? Instead he chained Kilgharrah beneath his castle and sentenced me to death. I fled, went to where I could do him no harm, and still he hunted me. Ealdor isn’t even within Camelot’s borders. I had a life there, friends, a good woman, and I was forced to abandon them all. And now I see once again it does not matter where I go; the Pendragons will always believe they own the world to use as they see fit, and throw away when they’re done.”

 

Balinor took clean cloth and wrapped it around Merlin’s treated wound with hands infinitely more gentle than his words. Arthur just stared, finding he could no longer breathe.

 

Ealdor. Balinor had been to Ealdor.

 

But it was long before Merlin’s time, surely. Gaius knew Hunith, he would have heard if Balinor had been there recently. But Gaius had said he only knew rumour. Was this the rumour he’d heard? That some twenty-odd years ago the dragonlord had spent a bit of time in Merlin’s village? Arthur had no memories of dragons, and he was sure he would if they had been around even in his toddler-hood. That meant Balinor had been driven out before then, when Merlin was but a baby, or perhaps not even born. The people of Ealdor were kind, if they didn’t know the dangers the man held they would not have hesitated to take him in.

 

Arthur didn’t dare question the man further in that regard, however. This was about convincing him to help Camelot now, not drudging up secrets of the past. Even if Balinor seemed to think they were greatly related.

 

They weren’t, not to Arthur. His people hadn’t asked for this. How could anyone look at Merlin and believe he deserved to die? And just because Arthur’s father hated magic enough to want to punish it?

 

But he knew he would get nowhere right now, not with Balinor in his current mood. Instead Arthur shifted his focus to Merlin. The boy was a good deal cooler than he’d been when Arthur first brought him in, and he hoped it was a reduction of the fever rather than just being out of the sun. Merlin still wasn’t awake, but he did seem to be moving a bit on his own now. The prince breathed a sigh of relief. If something had happened to him… But it wouldn’t, not now.

 

Arthur sat by Merlin’s side in silence while Balinor relit his fire and went about making supper. He wasn’t sure if he should expect any food for himself after their previous, em, “conversation.” So when Balinor passed him a bowl of stew, Arthur took it with mild surprise. Carefully he lifted a still dozing Merlin into a sitting position against the wall and started spooning the stew into his mouth.

 

Balinor watched for a moment with calculating eyes. “He can’t eat that way, boy. Give him this.” He poured out another bowl with just the stew stock. “Small spoonfuls, and massage his throat to help him swallow. He should wake up fully soon.”

 

Arthur obeyed, noting how Merlin’s eyelids began to flutter a bit more and he groaned a few times in discomfort. Eventually he did awaken enough to bat ineffectually at the spoon hovering near his chin.

 

“A-arthur? Where are we?”

 

“At Balinor’s cave. You’ve been unconscious for the better part of a day. _Someone_ didn’t seem to feel it necessary to tell me they were unfit for travel.”

 

Merlin rolled his shoulders in a weak shrug. “You wouldn’t have let me come.”

 

“No, I wouldn’t have. You should have stayed home, Merlin.”

 

“Oh yes, because it was so much safer back in Camelot.”

 

“What about Gaius? How did you even convince him you were well enough to leave?” It wasn’t like Gaius to allow Merlin to injure himself so and then not tell Arthur.

 

“Didn’t tell him.” Merlin yawned widely. “Stayed _far_ away. ‘Swhy I don’t have any extra clothes; I couldn’t go back to my room. Wouldof made me take something terrible for it, probably. Love Gaius, hate his brews.” Another yawn, cracking his jaw. “Besides, you needed me.”

 

Arthur smiled fondly, though he tried to temper it with chastisement. He wasn’t sure he succeeded. “Go back to sleep, idiot. I need you ready to ride in the morning.”

 

“You wouldn’t last a day without me,” Merlin mumbled, eyes slipping closed.

 

“Probably not,” Arthur agreed softly, lowering his friend back down on the blankets and covering him up again. He turned to find Balinor staring at him, expression unfathomable.

 

“The stew was meant for you,” he said finally, then retreated to the far end of the cave.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The next morning, Merlin woke bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as if he’d never been injured at all.

 

“Wow, whatever he did, it really worked!” he cheered. “Do you think he could teach Gaius? His poultices never work so well.”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes, though inwardly he was pleased Merlin had recovered so well. “He’s not coming with us to play physician, _Mer_ lin. He’s coming to kill the dragon.” Under his breath he muttered, “That is if he agrees to come at all.”

 

“Agrees to come? What do you mean? Of course he’ll come.”

 

“He swears he won’t.”

 

“But people are dying!”

 

“You think I didn’t tell him that?

 

“And still he won’t come?”

 

“And still he won’t come.”

 

Merlin stared in shock at the man standing outside by the brook. Arthur understood how he felt. Yes, he understood that sorcerers hated his family. He even understood that sorcerers were evil. But he simply couldn’t understand _anyone_ having such a callous outlook on the plight of other human beings. It was one thing to try to kill Arthur and his father. It was quite another to take it out on the innocent people of his kingdom.

 

Anger rising again the more he dwelt on it, Arthur stomped out to face the dragonlord. “So that’s it then? You’re just going to leave Camelot’s people to die?”

 

“I’ve no wish to see anyone die.”

 

“And yet you won’t help us! If you won’t come, then what was the point in healing Merlin last night? You accused me to sending him back to his death, but that is exactly what you yourself condemn him to if you refuse to face this dragon.”

 

Balinor’s eyes flicked behind Arthur to where he was sure Merlin now stood, likely preparing to come and drag him reluctantly away. Arthur could almost hear his voice, reassuring and utterly trusting, “ _It’s okay, Arthur. We’ll find another way. You can do it, I know you can. And I’ll be right there by your side._ ”

 

No. There would be no other way because Arthur wasn’t going to give up on this one. He had glimpsed the human in Balinor last night. It was there, he just had to figure out how to get Balinor to see it too.

 

“You mentioned friends, people you cared about. If this was them being attacked right now, what would you do?” The dragonlord’s eyes narrowed, but Arthur ploughed on. “If they were the ones standing before you now, asking what I am, would you turn them away? Would you tell them you’d rather watch them die than aid a Pendragon? There must be someone in Camelot you care about. Someone worth saving.”

 

Balinor just looked at him, and Arthur stared back. He had to give in. He had to.

 

“I will not return to Uther like some sniffling dog.”

 

A wave of relief washed over him. “I’m not asking you to. You don’t even have to enter the city if you don’t want to. Just defeat the dragon and you’re free to go on your way. No one will pursue you.”

 

Balinor snorted. “ _Right_. Well, what are we waiting for then, boy?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Despite Balinor’s acquiescence, Arthur found his mood deteriorating throughout the day. He was sure it had nothing to do with Merlin, who had fallen back to walk next to the dragonlord riding atop the servant’s own horse, grinning soppily at up him with eyes like the man invented the moon. Honestly, Arthur wasn’t sure what Merlin’s fascination with him was. When curiosity finally got the better of him and he hung back enough to listen to a bit of their conversation, it was to hear Balinor describing the fledging of baby dragons.

 

Arthur rolled his eyes. Of course. Merlin was nearly killed by the bloody beast, and he still thought of it like a fluffy kitten. He could only pray that the idiot wouldn’t cry over the dragon’s death like he had the unicorn. Arthur would just have to keep him away from the fighting. It wasn’t like he would be all that much help anyway.

 

As dusk began to fall, Arthur called a halt to make camp. “Merlin, go get firewood.”

 

Merlin pouted and complained, as always, but after a stern glare from Arthur he went. Immediately Arthur turned on Balinor.

 

“Stop filling his head with all this dragon nonsense. You don’t know what he’s like. You go getting him attached to the creature, next he’ll be begging me to save it like _it’s_ the victim.”

 

“Perhaps if you would take the time to learn about him too, you would see that Kilgharrah _is_ the victim here.”

 

Arthur threw up his hands in defeat and let out a growl of frustration. He would never understand this dragonlord.

 

When Merlin returned he continued his near hero worship. Arthur attempted to curtail the nauseating sight by ordering him to do as many chores as he could think of giving their surroundings, but the result was Merlin’s complete exhaustion and a wince whenever he moved his recently healed arm. Immediately the prince felt terrible for his actions.

 

“Go to bed, Merlin, before you injure yourself so badly you can’t muck the stables anymore. I’ll take first watch.”

 

Merlin didn’t protest, curling up under his blanket and quickly nodding off. Arthur watched him absentmindedly for a few long minutes, until Balinor broke into his daze.

 

“You care about the boy. That’s certainly not a Pendragon trait. You must have gotten that from your mother.”

 

Arthur’s gaze snapped over to the man, who sat idly carving a chunk of wood. “You knew my mother?”

 

“Not well,” he shrugged back. “I met her a few times, at feasts and such. But anyone with eyes could see how she kind was. She was a lovely woman. Uther didn’t deserve her.” Arthur instinctively bristled, but then Balinor added, almost to himself, “But then, none of us ever really do deserve the ones we love, do we?”

 

Arthur remembered the dragonlord’s mention of a “good woman” he’d known when he was first on the run. In Ealdor. He glanced briefly over at Merlin. Had he ever heard that Balinor had once hidden in his village all those years ago? A tiny place like that, they didn’t get much excitement. It seemed the type of story the people would pass down, retell around the fire. “Do you remember when that fugitive dragonlord stayed here? Thought he would murder us all in our beds!”

 

“This town you stayed in, Ealdor–”

 

“No,” Balinor cut him off, verbally and physically. “I’ve caused them enough harm already. I will not give up any of them to be punished merely for showing me kindness twenty-odd years ago.”

 

“I don’t mean to punish anyone!” Arthur shot back defensively. “I was only- I was just curious… have you ever thought about going back? Perhaps to this woman you left?”

 

That got a far less hostile response. The man’s shoulders dropped their tense stance, his face sagged. “She wouldn’t even recognize me now.”

 

Arthur could feel the heartbreak radiating off him. He wondered what it would be like, to be forced to leave everyone he cared about. To abandon Morgana, and his father, and Guinevere, and Merlin.

 

Merlin rolled over in his sleep, arm flinging out dangerously close to the fire before being tucked under his head. Arthur smiled. No, he wouldn’t be able to leave Merlin. The idiot would insist on coming with him.

 

“Besides,” Balinor continued, “her life is better off without me. All I wanted was for her to be safe, and without me she could be.  Hunith was a strong girl the last time I saw her. I’m sure she found a way to carry on.”

 

Only years of training keep himself unreactive in council meetings stopped Arthur from swallowing his own tongue in shock. Merlin’s mother. The woman Balinor left behind was _Merlin’s_ _mother_. Did that mean?

 

_“So, I’m sure you’ve noticed by now what’s missing.” Merlin sat on a bench outside his mother’s home, cleaning the rabbits Arthur had caught for their dinner. His body was tight, expression defensive._

_“A stone floor? Windows? Ah, you mean the lack of servants.”_

_“Arthur.”_

_Arthur dropped his teasing. Even after only a few months he knew that tone. “What happened to him?”_

_“Don’t know.” Merlin kept his eyes trained on his work, skinning the rabbit with increasingly vicious strokes of his knife. “My mother doesn’t talk about him. Nobody does.”_

_Arthur knew what that meant. If Merlin’s father had died a hero, the village would have fallen over themselves to tell Merlin how wonderful he was. That was what everyone in Camelot did for the prince’s late mother, even if Uther himself was loathe to mention her. For no one to speak of him, Merlin’s father must have been far from their good graces._

_“He was a good man,” Merlin said softly. “She won’t say anything else, but I know he was a good man.”_

Oh gods. This was Merlin’s father. The criminal dragonlord sorcerer was Merlin’s father. But there was no way he knew that. Sure he had indulged Merlin’s questioning all day, and genuinely seemed to like him, but everyone liked Merlin, it was impossible not to. But he didn’t treat him like a long lost son. And as for Merlin himself…

 

Oh gods, this was going to kill Merlin. Or Merlin would kill him, _them_. Arthur had never asked if Merlin wanted to ever meet him, but the resentful tone was enough to know he wasn’t happy about his father’s apparent abandoning of his family, no matter what his mother said about his goodness. And adding to that that the only reason Balinor had left them was because Arthur’s father wanted him dead? No, no this was not going to go over well at all.

 

He had to tell them. Merlin, at the very least. Yes, Arthur would have to find a way to tell Merlin, then if he wanted to Merlin could clue Balinor –his _father_ – into the revelation. Or maybe he should let Hunith do it. He could tell her that he knew what they were all hiding and force her to tell Merlin. But that was the coward’s way out and he knew it. So Arthur was going to have to do it. He was going to have to tell Merlin by himself.

 

Arthur’s silence hadn’t gone unnoticed, but at least its meaning had. “So there’s your answer. I’ve thought about it every day. But I’ll never act on it.” With that Balinor set down his finished carving –a small dragon– next to Merlin and walked over to his bedroll, placed distinctly apart from the others, and lay down with his back to Arthur.

 

Arthur spent the rest of his watch contemplating the sleeping Merlin and wondering just who had decided his life had to be so hard these days.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Arthur! Arthur wake up!”

 

Merlin was shaking him fiercely, shoving his sword into his hands before he was even fully conscious. “Cenred’s men are here.”

 

Instantly Arthur was awake and on his feet. Merlin was tossing Balinor his own sword and backing away. Before Arthur could hiss at him to hide, a swarm of men crested the cliffs around them, and the fight was on.

 

There weren’t many. Probably just a patrol who had happened to come across them. Arthur knew they couldn’t afford to let word get back to Cenred they were here. The dead patrol would raise flags that _something_ had happened, but so long as none of them lived to tell the tale, the slaying could have been done by any standard bandit.

 

Arthur thrust and parried, dispatching his opponents with relative ease, until he heard an anguished roar and spun around. Merlin, eyes wide with shock, clutched hands to his stomach and dropped to the ground like a stone.

 

“ _Merlin!_ ”

 

Balinor viciously finished off the last fighter, whose blood-stained sword indicated it was he who had done the deed. Arthur sprinted to Merlin’s side. Panicking, Merlin scrabbled at Arthur’s chest. Arthur grabbed his hands to still him. “It’s okay, Merlin. You’re fine. I’m right here.”

 

“Sorry. I’m s-sorry.”

 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You did good, Merlin. You’re going to be fine. It’s just a scratch. Gaius will patch you up in no time.”

 

Merlin gave a smile that came out more like a grimace, and his grip tightened before it began to slack.

 

“No, Merlin, you have to stay awake. Can you do that? I need you to stay awake, Merlin!”

 

But Merlin’s eyes slipped closed despite his order. Arthur placed a hand over his chest and felt the quickly fading heartbeat. There was little blood, but he had seen enough belly cuts to know how they worked. It wasn’t the blood loss that killed you. It was the seeping fluids of the severed intestines leaking through your body. No physician could save anyone stabbed through the stomach like this.

 

But they didn’t have a physician with them anyway.

 

“Fix him.”

 

Balinor rested a hesitant hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I can’t. You know I can’t. No medicine can fix this.”

 

“Not medicine. Magic.”

 

Balinor drew back as Arthur glared fiercely at him. “I have no magic. I merely command dragons.”

 

“You fixed his shoulder,” Arthur snapped. “That wasn’t medicine. I’ve seen Gaius work; not even he could have made it heal so quickly. You did something. Do it again.”

 

“So that you can then kill me for treason?” he retorted angrily. “The boy will die no matter what I do, that’s how these kinds of wounds work, and you well know it! Why should I endanger myself so needlessly?”

 

“ _Because he’s your son!_ ”

 

They both stared at each other in stunned silence, Balinor at the outburst and Arthur that he had allowed himself to become so uncontrolled.

 

“I don’t _have_ a son,” he whispered.

 

“He is from Ealdor and his mother is Hunith and if you don’t do something to try to save him you will be allowing your own child to die.”

 

Balinor stared down at Merlin with fear filled eyes. He dropped to his knees and ran a hand gently through his son’s hair.

 

“I will tell no one what you have done. Just… _save him_.”

 

The dragonlord nodded jerkily, placing his palms over Merlin’s stomach and beginning to mutter frantically to himself in a language Arthur didn’t understand. Only the gold glow of his eyes told him what he was doing was really magic. Arthur backed away, getting slowly to his feet. He shouldn’t have done this. Merlin was terrified of magic, clammed up and flinched every time anyone even mentioned it. He would never forgive Arthur for allowing it to be used on him. Arthur knew he himself would rather die than allow a sorcerer to save his life.

 

Of course, none of the sorcerer’s he’d ever met _would_ save his life, hell-bent as they all were on destroying it.

 

Merlin was just going to have to get over it, because Arthur was _not_ going to lose him, not like this, not when he could help it. And now that he knew who Merlin was to him, it seemed neither was Balinor. His palms were pressed harshly to the wound, hiding the shaking of his hands but not the trembling of his voice as he incanted faster and faster.

 

Finally, he rocked back on his heels and dropped his hands. Arthur scrambled back down to feel Merlin’s pulse.

 

“He’ll live,” Balinor croaked. Then he got to his feet and stumbled off into the woods.

 

Arthur ignored him, content to watch the unblemished skin of Merlin’s belly and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was nightfall before Merlin awoke.

 

“Arthur? _Arthur?_ ”

 

Arthur hurried over and pressed down on Merlin’s shoulders as he struggled to rise. “Shh, relax, I’m right here. How do you feel?”

 

“Why aren’t I dead?”

 

“Honestly, Merlin, I told you, it was just a scratch. I’ve seen toddlers scrap their knees worse.”

 

“ _Arthur_.”

 

“Fine.” Arthur swallowed thickly. All this time and he still didn’t know what to say. He and Balinor had agreed, it was best if Arthur told him. All of it. Then if Merlin wanted to speak to his father he could do so. And if he never wanted to see him again, well, neither of them would make him. “Merlin, you’re right, you should be dead.”

 

“Yes, I’m aware of that, thanks.”

 

“The reason you’re not is because, well, we, that is to say I, I mean…” Oh gods, he was mucking this all up. “Balinor used magic to save you.”

 

“He did _what?_ ” Merlin attempted to shoot upright, and Arthur was forced to press him down again.

 

“Don’t panic, he didn’t do anything bad to you, I promise. No curses or enchantments or jinxes. He just healed you, that’s all.”

 

“ _And you let him?_ ” Merlin stared at him in shock and a bit of something else, but it was a moment before Arthur figured out what it was.

 

“Of course I did, you idiot. I wasn’t about to let you die. We’ve got another two days to get back to Camelot. What am I supposed to do without you in the meantime?”

 

Merlin let out a huff of laughter and his shock softened to pure admiration and Arthur knew his guess was right. He wasn’t surprised or afraid of the magic being used on him. He was surprised and _proud_ that Arthur had _let_ it be used.

 

Merlin’s expression dimmed a bit as he twisted as much as he could to look around. “So where is he now, then?”

 

“Well, Merlin, that’s another thing I need to talk to you about.” Instantly Merlin’s face fell, and he closed off, obviously preparing himself to hear that Balinor had been killed for sorcery. “No, stop that. He’s fine. I’m the one who told him to do it, I wasn’t about to arrest him for it.” Merlin said nothing, but his relief was clear. He had to do this fast. It was like a mercy blow, best done and over before they could feel the pain.

 

“Balinor is your father.”

 

Merlin blinked a moment in confusion. Then, against all expectations, he started to giggle. “Really, that’s the best you could come up with? Come on, clotpole, I had to have been out long enough for you to come up with a better prank than that. Although I do appreciate the attempt to cheer me up about the almost dying thing. Not really your style, though…”

 

Merlin’s laughter trailed off as he realized that no, it wasn’t Arthur’s style at all. His face hardened. “No. No, this isn’t funny, Arthur. Is this because it took me until we were back in Camelot to convince you that wasn’t really your mother you saw with Morgause, because it’s not like you gave me a chance to try before that.”

 

“Merlin–”

 

“If you let him save me just to make fun of me –”

 

“Merlin!” The servant shut his mouth, glaring at Arthur hatefully. “I’m sorry, Merlin, but it isn’t a joke. When Balinor fled Camelot, Gaius sent him to Ealdor. To your mother.” Merlin said nothing, gave no hint of a change in his feelings. “He stayed there as long as he could, then my father heard he was there and sent troops after him. He left to protect her and everyone in the village. I’m sorry, Merlin. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Go away, sire.”

 

Arthur felt his heart twist at the words. “Merlin–”

 

“Leave me alone, sire. Please.”

 

Arthur sighed and got to his feet. He moved to walk away, but something drew him to give once last defence. “If I had killed my father, I never would have forgiven myself. Because even if it was all true, if he did allow my mother to die so that I might live, he’s still my father. And Balinor is yours. Don’t cast him aside just because you’re angry.”

 

He was nearly out of earshot when he heard “It’s not him I’m angry with.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The next day Arthur saw Balinor and Merlin together by the stream. Even as his heart soared to know Merlin had his family back, the knowledge that his friend held him responsible for the separation hurt more than he cared to admit. _I didn’t know!_ he wanted to cry. _If I had I would have done something; I **did** do something!_ He was the one who figured it out and told Merlin just as soon as he could, shouldn’t that count for something? Why was it _Arthur_ who had to receive the boy’s wrath?

 

“We’re moving out,” he called to them gruffly. Merlin would get over this all soon. He had to.

 

Once again Merlin held back to talk to the dragonlord, though this time it was he who rode the horse. The wound hadn’t fully healed internally, despite Balinor’s efforts, and even a few hours of riding had him grimacing and twisting in pain. Arthur called rests as often as he could, but he knew at this rate it would be several more days before they reached Camelot.

 

“We need another method,” he announced, wincing himself as he spied the pinched expression on Merlin’s face. “A stretcher, something we can lay him out on, maybe carry it between the horses.”

 

“I’m fine,” Merlin protested.

 

“Yes, you’re fine and I’m a talking horse.”

 

“More like a talking a–”

 

“Is there anything you can do, Balinor? With your magic?”

 

The dragonlord considered for a moment. “I can make him lighter. Then we could both ride the horse, and it wouldn’t stress the poor beast as much. We’d make better time if no one was walking, and a sling between the horses would be slower still. He’d be able to rest as well if someone could hold on to him. I can put you to sleep, Merlin. Just enough that you wouldn’t feel the pain.”

 

“No!” Merlin protested immediately, looking slightly panicked. “I mean, not the sleep. Please. The lighter thing, that’s fine. But just, let me sleep on my own.”

 

Arthur understood. The last time a sleeping curse had been used, the citadel had been attacked and Morgana had been taken.

 

“Do it then.” I want to reach Camelot by tomorrow evening.”

 

The spell didn’t seem to help Merlin’s comfort level any, but they did travel faster after that. On the second day Balinor was finally able to convince him to be spelled to sleep, and from there they rode in silence.

 

When the city came into view, they both automatically slowed their horses.

 

“I meant what I said. You don’t have to enter the walls.”

 

“Yes, I do.”

 

So together they entered the city. Just as they cantered through the gates Balinor lifted his spell so that Merlin stirred in the saddle. He immediately clenched his fists to his gut in discomfort, but waved off Arthur’s concerned questions. They left the horses to the stablehands, making their way for the council chambers, much as Arthur wanted to take Merlin straight to the physician’s quarters. Gaius was probably strategizing with his father anyway. If the lack of fires was anything to go by, at least the dragon hadn’t attacked while they were gone, though the high alert indicated it still wasn’t gone. A small blessing, but Arthur had had so few lately he was willing to take it.

 

“Father,” Arthur announced as they entered the chambers. “I have brought back the dragonlord.”

 

The collective gathering of council members and knights spun to face them. Arthur felt Balinor squaring his shoulders behind him, even as his grip around Merlin’s waist, holding his son upright, tightened. The prince willed them both to stay silent. Any provocation and this would all fall apart.

 

“You have done well, Arthur.” The twitch of the muscles in Uther’s jaw indicated just how hard he was fighting not to order the knights to seize the fugitive.

 

“It was my servant who managed to convince him.” Technically not true, at least in the beginning, but Arthur couldn’t help but throw in his own barb, for Merlin’s sake. He saw Gaius trying to make concerned eye contact with his ward, but Merlin pointedly ignored him.

 

“Well then, _dragonlord_.” He said the word as if it were filth caught on his tongue. “Will you do your duty by the crown?”

 

_Oh gods, you didn’t just say that._

 

Balinor extracted himself from his son, who swayed dangerously but managed to stay upright, and stepped forward. Arthur steeled himself to have to jump in before things came to blows. “I will do my _duty_ , Pendragon, to your people. Something you should have done long ago.”

 

Uther opened his mouth to bellow something back, but Arthur stepped between them. “I will take Balinor to prepare to face the dragon, sire. We will ride out tonight.”

 

With that he ushered Merlin and Balinor from the room, looping an arm around Merlin and nearly dragging him to Gaius’s quarters. He rejoiced that Merlin didn’t try to pull away from him, though the good feeling was muted a bit with the hint that right now he _couldn’t_.

 

They laid the servant down on his bed, Arthur going to get a draught for the pain. He set it down on the nightstand rather than give it to Merlin, though. “I want you to see Gaius first. Then I’m sure you can have it.”

 

Merlin stiffened, but any retort he might have had was cut short by Gaius bounding into the room. The old man glanced back and forth between the three, worry plain on his face. Finally he landed on Merlin. “Merlin, my boy. What have you done to yourself now?”

 

He didn’t look like he was going to answer any time soon, so Arthur answered for him. “He was stabbed in the gut, Gaius.”

 

Gaius gasped in horror, and lunged forward, yanking Merlin’s tunic up. “But –what?”

 

“I said he _was_ stabbed. Balinor healed him.”

 

Gaius blinked and began and sputter frantically, “Sire, I’m sure there’s some kind of–”

 

Arthur held up a hand to stop him. “It’s alright, Gaius. I know and I understand. No one is in any danger from me. I will not tell my father what Balinor has done.” Gaius sagged with relief. “Nor will I be informing him that Balinor’s son is here in Camelot.”

 

Immediately Gaius went stock still, eyes wide, and Arthur felt bad for a moment springing this on him like this. But Gaius had had every opportunity to tell Merlin, and he hadn’t.

 

Merlin seemed to think the same. This was the confirmation he needed that this wasn’t all coincidence and speculation. “Why did you never tell me?”

 

“Merlin, we only wanted to pro-”

 

“No! I’ve had enough of this ‘wanting to protect me.’ I had a right to know!”

 

“Yes, you did. I’m sorry, Merlin.”

 

Merlin seemed to soften at that, at least enough to let Gaius treat him. There wasn’t much he could do, now that the wound itself was fully closed. Gaius prodded around his stomach a bit, then instructed him to take the draught for the pain and get some sleep.

 

“And you’ll come to get me to face the dragon tonight?” He turned his face hopefully to Balinor.

 

“No, son. You need to rest.”

 

“But we can do this, together!”

 

“Merlin,” Arthur protested gently. “You can hardly walk.”

 

“But what if-” Merlin threw a glance at Arthur, then whispered the last, “What if you don’t come back?”

 

Of course. Uther wouldn’t allow Balinor to stay any longer than necessary. He wouldn’t be surprised if the knights were sent out with orders to kill him or at the very least arrest him as soon as the dragon was defeated. And Merlin would lose his father, again, after only knowing him two days.

 

“I promise, Merlin,” he said, because it was Arthur who needed to tell him this, not Balinor. “I promise you will see your father again. Not here, Balinor won’t be welcome in Camelot after today, but in Ealdor.” Balinor made a strangled noise, but Arthur ignored it. “He’s going home. There’s someone there waiting for him. Then as soon as you’re well enough to travel you can take some time off and go visit your parents.”

 

Merlin fairly beamed. And Arthur knew that in the face of that smile, there was no way Balinor was going to contradict him.

 

“Get some rest, Merlin. We’ll come back before we leave.”

 

Gaius ushered Balinor out, but Merlin called for Arthur to wait. His friend picked at his thin blankets sheepishly. “It’s not you I was upset with either, not really. Just Gaius, and my mother, they should have…”

 

His heart warmed at the words. “I know. Some secrets just aren’t meant to be kept.”

 

Merlin smiled sadly at him. “No, they aren’t. Have fun facing the dragon, prat.”

 

“Have fun convalescing. Only you would take a sword to the stomach just to get out of your chores for a few days.”

 

“A week.” Merlin raised his eyebrows hopefully.

 

“Two,” Arthur acquiesced. “Don’t expect such treatment all the time. It’s merely that I’m going to be busy these next few weeks rebuilding in the lower town, and you’re useless at that kind of manual labour, well, any kind of manual labour, really.”

 

Merlin threw his pillow at him, and Arthur just threw it back. They grinned dopily at each other for a moment before Arthur headed for the door.

 

“Arthur?” Merlin called after him. Arthur turned. “I’m going to visit my parents. I have _parents_.”

 

“Yes, Merlin. You do.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> AND THEY ALL LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER AND WENT TO DISNEY LAND.
> 
>  
> 
> (I was actually going to kill Balinor and make the boys angst a bit more, but this leaves it open so I can write mini-fic sequels of the adventures of Merlin and Family.


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